The Hour of the Star

by Clarice Lispector

And — and don’t forget that the structure of the atom cannot be seen but is nonetheless known. I know about lots of things I’ve never seen. And so do you. You can’t show proof of the truest thing of all, all you can do is believe. Weep and believe.

Because “who am I?” creates a need. And how can you satisfy that need? Those who wonder are incomplete.

But I also think she was crying because, through the music, she might have guessed there were other ways of feeling, there were more delicate existences and even a certain luxury of soul.

My God, I just remembered that we die. But — but me too?! Don’t forget that for now it’s strawberry season.